Truth is what you believe
by nightbemyname
Summary: Van Helsing is sent to kill a witch but she gives him a hard time. Literally.


**Disclaimer:** yadda yadda yadda… We all know I don't own Van Helsing, I know exactly how much I'd like to.

**Note:** I'm a non-native English speaker and I've never lived in an English speaking country. I apologize right away for my sometimes awkward and sometimes downright wrong English. Any constructive criticism is most welcome.

**Warning:** Some may feel somewhat offended by the OC in this story but that was never my intention. In all walks of live there are people who aren't all that nice, be it because of some intrinsic desire for power or simply because they've been hurt too much before, I think this was the case but I never meant to write a long, in depth story, just a bit of smut, really. Don't take it seriously.

**Truth is what you believe**

Gabriel van Helsing stood still and silent, camouflaged by his hat and trench coat in the shadows of a moonless night. Watching, as he had done for the past nights. Observing, but all had seemed so ordinary in the people and events of the surrounding forest and its manor. A well wrought deceit it was certain, for his superior had warned him vehemently.

"She's a witch," cardinal Jinette's voice, usually so detachedly commanding had a notorious tint of disdain, "a high practitioner of the black arts. She disturbs the dead and does unspeakable things to the living. You have to kill her, she's beyond redemption."

"But, Sir… our vows… always give a chance for repentance?"

"Not this time. Do your job. And… van Helsing? Two things: be discrete, and I mean it; be careful, in the roll of her sins there's the killing of a Holly Knight."

So, he keeps watching, searching for the hint that will take the uncertainty from his mind. Many say he's a murderer, some say he's a fanatic, he doesn't know who or even what he is, but he knows he won't murder in cold blood.

It's all too sudden. A dissonant sound behind him, he turns to see but the trees are too dense; a barking dangerously close and the answer not too far. The hunter's being hunted. Two huge mastiffs jump from the deep shadows gnarling menacingly, sharp white teeth gleaming even in the scarce light. Something whistles past him. The second bolt, however, doesn't miss the target and a numbing cold spreads through his arm. Nor does the third. Or the fourth. He shoots the empty shadows, trying to resist, to stay awake. But it's so cold. So dark. So empty in his mind.

He's resting on his back, now. It's soft and comfortable. Slowly, his mind begins to clear and the gift of sight's returned. White, white all over, replaces the previous darkness. And it's then, in a sudden flash of realization, that Gabriel van Helsing grasps the reality of his present situation: iron fetters chain each of his wrists and ankles to the forged iron frame of the bed he's laying on; he's as naked as a newborn child, as vulnerable and helpless. "_There must be a way_", he thinks; pulling, twitching and forcing the chains with all his strength and despair, only to tire and hurt himself. He looks around, to the bare white walls with no windows, to the mixed paraphernalia of surgical instruments, glass flasks and vials and other difficult to identify things displayed on a small table, and he fears. His heart beats like nothing in the world could disturb him, it was a trick of concentration he learned long ago, but he fears, for only those who have no imagination have no fear.

A woman walks in. Unconsciously, his body retracts in the futile attempt of hiding his private parts. Unwillingly, he blushes.

So, this is the woman he came to kill. Her slender and very lightly built body appears to be in the early 30's. Her dark hair is done in a chignon tied simply on the back of her head. Her eyes are dark, her skin's pale. Over a demure blue dress she wears a white gown, like a doctor. There's nothing unusual about her; she walks the streets unnoticed. She says not a word and her face's an impenetrable, emotionless mask. From the tray placed on the table, she takes a needle. Or maybe it's the thorn of some bush, he's not sure.

"Listen, Lady, let's talk, O.K.?", he doesn't sound like a man imagining a painful future for himself; instead, it's true concern that shows in his voice. "Whatever you've done, whatever you have in mind, there's still time to change, to forgive and be forgiven." And he means it, and he cares.

"Quiet." Was it the cold strength of her voice or the feeling that whatever he might say would be useless, van Helsing stood silent and waited.

With the needle, she pricked the tip of his index finger and let a few drops of blood flow into a delicate glass vial. A few other drops tinted the immaculate white sheets. Taking his hand to her lips, she licked the tip of the wounded finger. And then a bit deeper. Or was it his imagination? Unexpected, a shiver, born of a strange mix of fear and arousal, run through his body.

Handling the medical tools, things created to alleviate the grievances that afflict mankind but are so often used to bring more suffering, the witch, as the cardinal had referred to her, seemed so much more to be one of those godless, lawless, believers in the powers of all-mighty science than a follower of the Arts. Though in the end, in practice, it was about the same. Evil is evil, no matter the source or the shape. So, what did she want with him? What?

The woman held something van Helsing recognized as a lab thermometer, an instrument made of thick glass so to endure the high temperatures of the boiling experiments. As she approached, he realized, with embarrassment, where the instrument was going into and, once again, his body reacted involuntarily. Tightly held and with no range of movement as he was, he offered no resistance. It was utterly embarrassing to be put through that, it would be even more so to give her the pleasure of seeing him struggling. The half-inch thick instrument was pushed obscenely deep into his rectum.

She checked his heartbeat and was intrigued by its unnaturally calm pace. Wasn't he afraid? Not even a bit? That would defeat the whole purpose. No, but he was, the rest of his body said so. After a little waiting, she pulled the thermometer out and almost instantaneously shoved it right back in. Caught absolutely by surprise, this time the shiver that run through him was undeniable, he let out an irrepressible, almost inaudible, moan of pleasure. Her delicate hand rubbed his crouch as she pushed the improvised dildo back and forth. He tried hard to control his arousal, ashamed that his body would react that way.

"I think you're ready.", she said appreciatively. And to the prisoner's greater terror, she took from a finely chiseled silver box, something in the form of a carved penis. "_No_", van Helsing screamed to himself. "_Oh God, please don't._" It was wrong, it was rape. It felt like it was robbing him of his intrinsic manhood. He felt ashamed, for being powerless, for being about to be raped. The ivory toy was laid on the sheets between his spread legs.

To his surprise, she began unbuttoning the gown. Staring deep into his eyes, her body undulating like a silvery field of wheat moved by the breeze. The blue dress, too, fell to the ground revealing the grace of her well proportioned small body. Gracefully, her long hair was set loose and, against his will, van Helsing found himself admiring her now exposed beauty.

She took the dildo to her mouth and began licking, just the tip at first, slowly, always searching for her prisoner's eyes, teasing him. Devouring his attractive body with her dark eyes, she took the pleasure toy to her intimate parts. It felt good. Rubbing the clitoris she began to get wet and pushed the dildo inside her. Waves of pleasure run though her, making her breath fast, her heart pound deeper. As she played with herself, moving the dildo deeper and faster, she began caressing van Helsing's cock, both her hands moving at the same pace. His fears now diminished, he began to enjoy her touch and, abandoning himself, desire overcame him. How he needed to feel her, to be inside her, she was driving him over the edge. And suddenly, she stopped.

She kneeled on the bed, in the space between his legs. And as she touched his hole with the still moisty object, all his inhibitions, all his doubts and fears, all the humiliation that had taunted him before, stroke hard at once. This time, the mix of all those things was stronger than his conscious will and he recoiled the little the chains allowed him to. "Please, don't.", he supplicated.

"Shhh", she kissed the inside of his thighs. "Relax, it's just like the first time of a maiden. It hurts at first, but then it begins to feel good." It was pointless to fight, pointless to beg. Maybe it wasn't so wrong. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it wouldn't make him less of a man. He abandoned his body, his mind taking refuge somewhere far.

Her warm lips and tongue kissed, licked and caressed the tender skin of his manhood. As gentle as possible, she began penetrating him. He had been beaten, cut and shot so many times, he wasn't going to utter the slightest moan over this. But, unlike what he had expected, she was being very careful, and it didn't really hurt. Rather, it felt weird, like something huge was filling all of him inside, reaching so far that it threatened even to choke him. Then, after having entered him deep enough, she began moving the dildo more vigorously, back and forth, out and in again. His body trembled intensely and he moaned, or rather screamed.

Chastity. To fight evil one must be pure. For every capital sin there's a virtue, a Holly Knight must live with virtue. Chastity. It's not that a Knight has to abstain from sex, just from adultery, depravation, and all those other deformed forms of sex. Van Helsing tried hard to avoid arousal, in vain. His body reacted to every touch, every thrust, every sinful thing she was doing to him. "_Maybe it's not wrong. Maybe I'll be no less of a man. Maybe…_" He gave in to pleasure, the sensations of his body completely obscuring the concerns of his mind.

Sitting on top of him, she took his hard cock inside of her, moving her body as she kept thrusting inside of him. The combination of both movements was maddening, his whole body shuddered with unreleased tension; he had utterly surrendered. With a cry, he exploded in a warm wave inside of her. And he felt good and at peace, endlessly thankful to that strange woman he had come to kill.

It felt so good to have him in her that she remained in the same position, using her fingers until she came. Then, for the first time, she smiled. And it wasn't for sure the laughter of a witch, it was something deeply sweet and tender. Leaning over his chest she kissed his lips and he returned the kisses with passion.

"_Men! Men are such easy to manipulate creatures! Men are such easy creatures, period. A bit of fear – what a mighty aphrodisiac it is -, a bit of play, and they're up and ready to go. Look at him, satisfied and serene, looking as peaceful as an innocent child. Delightful in his ideas about manhood: penetration is for women. He'll never admit he liked it, still, right now he could swear that I'm more worthy of veneration that the Virgin herself. Let's make sure he keeps feeling that way. Foolish man! Foolish me! Foolish, foolish me! He's going to be my downfall. But not today!_"

The waning face of the triple Goddess had finally appeared over the Eastern mountains. Taking the glass vial with the Knight's blood, she pricked her own finger and let the old and the new blood mix. Then, praying to the Ever-changing; the Virgin, Mother and Crone; the one that was before all others and had yet remained nameless; the priestess threw the blood into the burning pyre before her. A sugary odor invaded the surrounding forest and she kept praying, calling, until a familiar spirit came to her: a spirit of illusion and deceit. "I beg your help, old friend, to mislead the mind of a man, as you so often do."

He felt more confused than ever, now that he was free and she was rubbing his wrists and ankles with a soothing unguent. More than ever, he didn't know what to think of the witch he had been so vehemently warned about, the one who was said to commit such terrible actions, who had killed a Holly Knight, who had kept him in chains and abused him, the one who had smiled with the deepest tenderness in her eyes and was now tending his wounds. Even his unnatural intuition seemed confused. So he said it, what was in his mind, hoping for the clue that would bring sense to it all. "What do you want of me? Who… what are you exactly?"

"I thought you knew, since you're here to kill me." Somehow, it was no surprise to him that she knew; she was a witch after all. "You're not the first one, you know? Your holly dictatorial patriarchate could never tolerate the ones such as myself. Fear of competition, maybe?", she joked ironically. "For how many centuries have you been trying? Your charitable priests stole our sacred places, our rituals, our symbols and turned them into their own, in a twisted way. Your holly Inquisitors sent us to the flames and now they use the ones like you; it's cleaner and much more discrete. But the greatest sin of all was condemning half of humankind to slavery by another name; was stealing from women all the freedom, turning the sacred gift of conceiving life into the primordial sin.

"I know many apologies are due and that they cannot right the wrongs of the past, but it's Evil that I fight, not women who follow old Gods or make healing unguents like you do. But you know about the one who came before me, you are accused of having killed him."

Almost to his surprise, her answer came swift and clear. "I did. He tried to kill me, I don't want to go yet. I've never hurt anyone else in my life, my gift is as a healer." She uttered the words with utmost serenity. Van Helsing looked her deep in the eyes and finally knew the truth. He believed her. Strange and wild has she might be, Evil, true Evil, had no hold on her. He would not obey his orders.

"You need not fear for your life anymore", he said, holding her delicate hand in his. She found it delightfully ironic. "I'll tell my superiors that there was some sort of misinformation, you were wrongly accused. I'll protect you, I promise."

She kissed him and he embraced her, feeling how light and small her body was. His protective nature completely taking over him. He'd keep her safe, keep her from harm at all cost, with all his strength.

When the morning came, fully clad and armed, Gabriel van Helsing mounted his brown steed. She pulled him to her one last time and they kissed with the passion of goodbyes. "Farewell, my angel.", she whispered with sadness. "My guardian-angel, Gabriel." And he rode into the rising sun.

"Thank you, old friend." She had no more need of the spirit and dismissed it. Once again it had served her well, her own intuition telling her that the Knight had left fully convinced of her utmost innocence. Maybe he'd be able to convince the abhorring Patriarchate, maybe not. In fact, it didn't really matter. She had killed that insufferable creature they had sent before. How annoying he was, with all that talk about repentance, all blind fanaticism! She had endured his presence until she couldn't take it anymore, one night she had finally summoned the spirit of the Wild Hunt; the true Hunter and his relentless pack. And they had had fun, they had played with the Knight almost until dawn when the Hunter's mastiffs shred him to little pieces.

"_Good. Evil. Gods. Goddesses. Demons. Devils. Angels. Spirits. Don't they know that Evil to one is Good to another? What does it matter, anyway? Freedom, power, that's all that matters. Wasn't it some Hindu hero who said that "no good man is completely good and no evil man is completely evil"? Apply to women and it'll still be right." _The spirits had told her what he had come for as soon as he had arrived; she had decided to dispatch him effectively and soon. She couldn't; she had a soft spot for handsome man. So, she wouldn't kill him, she'd just break him, use him for her own pleasure and send him back, delightfully humiliated, as a statement of her own power. But as she played with him, she caught a glimpse of his nature, of his candor and innocence, of a kind heart beneath the hunter's façade. Don't they say Evil loves innocence? She loved him.


End file.
